Folding the Sky

-45-

In the afternoon when both the heat and the dismal mood in the warehouse grew far too stifling to bear, Chike gathered what was left of the suits (his was dusted in soot, Aldric's was burnt in several places, and Sorin's was missing in action) and took a walk back to Artisan's Row.

The streets were quieter than usual, but Chike didn't think anything of it. The festival had dragged on long the night before, and the day afterwards was always a holiday anyway. Most of Sinje's residents were probably still dozing in bed, or lazing about half-awake on their couches. At least, that's what he wished he were doing.

The task at the chateau should have been easy for him. Ever since he'd received his power all Chike had wanted was to pretend it wasn't there, to blend in with the rest. He'd grown fairly skilled at it, too—masking himself, melting away into the back of a dense crowd. Except that last night, none of it had mattered. It all fell apart anyway, crumbling right through the open gaps of his quivering fingers.

Vernon has to die.

He knew it was true. But just because he knew it didn't make it any easier to accept.

As he walked down Artisan's Row, Chike crumpled party streamers and styrofoam cups and clods of confetti beneath his boots. Wind whistled through rosebushes and sent leftover crumbs skittering across the walk, birds flapping and squawking after them. He heard no voices, no squeaking of door hinges, no sign of human life at all. He'd left the warehouse to escape the dour mood of everything, but somehow, it had followed him here, too.

Relief opened in his chest when he reached his family's front doorstep. He knocked quickly, stepping back, clearing his throat.

A murmur of voices sounded behind the door, but a moment later only his mother's face peeked out through a narrow, shadowy gap between the door and the jamb.

Chike's heart jumped into his throat; he swallowed around it. "Mama?" he said. "What's the matter? Did Ngozi party too hard last night? It's alright. You know I don't mind the mess."

"Chike—"

"The suits are a little...damaged, by the way," he went on, holding the stack out to her. "I'm sorry. Last night didn't exactly go as planned."

She stepped out, pushed the suits back at him with enough force that it almost sent him flailing backwards. "Chike, love, don't you see?"

Chike's throat was tightening; the air whistled as it left his mouth. "See...see what, Mama?"

She shook her head at him, her eyes round, dark, inexplicably sad. "I am so sorry, but it's not safe for you to be here," she said. "There's no time left. The war...the war is already here. After what happened at Mulaim, Sinjesi officials signed the declaration early this morning."

The suits dropped to the ground. Chike, stunned enough to dizziness, barely realized that he'd let them go. "But we—how—"

"Do yourself a favor and run far away from here," said Mrs. Lee, and suddenly she was out in the light, holding him, craning his head down to kiss his forehead. She held his face, squishing his cheeks, her eyes aflame. "Go to Janu, Sunom—oh, I don't care. Anywhere but here or Naino, understand me? Run far away and don't come back. They'll kill you, Chike. They will kill you all."

"Mama—"

"I love you, Chike," she whispered. "Now go, my boy. I've already said too much. Go now."

She kissed him again, his cheek this time, her tears lingering on his skin. Chike reached for her, but she'd already slammed the door shut in his face. She was gone, and he was alone, shivering in the heat.